


It Really Is That Simple

by PompousPickle



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Friends With Benefits, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, background gakuyama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 20:22:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17351984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PompousPickle/pseuds/PompousPickle
Summary: "The live had been a success, and Yamato wanted to go out and celebrate. He had lost track of time, and forgotten to call. That’s all it was. Yamato had the decency to fix his hair and put on a turtleneck before breakfast, so no one could have known. He could have fooled anyone.It would have even fooled Mitsuki, if Mitsuki didn’t know exactly what Yamato Nikaidou looked like after being thoroughly fucked."





	It Really Is That Simple

**Author's Note:**

> [light part 3 spoilers, but nothing too over-the-top this time]

Yamato’s head was pounding. His hair was a mess. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot. There were bruises on his neck, peeking out from underneath the wrinkled and unkempt collar of his shirt. It was barely six in the morning, and he thought no one would be awake to see him stumble in like this, fucked out and exhausted and with no questions as to where he had been the night before. He was so sure of it; that he could just sneak in, go to bed, and wake up like it had never happened in the first place.

The universe never made anything that simple.

“We were worried, you know.”

Yamato froze as he tried to creep past the kitchen. It was the only light on in the dormitory, giving a dim and quiet light to the hallway around it. Everything else was so dark, the rest of the world enjoying some much-deserved rest. Yamato knew he should just keep walking, pretend he didn’t hear it and move on.

But his feet wouldn’t move.

“You didn’t come back from the bar around your usual time, so I tried calling,” Mitsuki sighed as he pulled hardboiled eggs from a pot on the stove. He placed them on a plate to cool, and returned back to preparing breakfast for the rest of the dorm. “You didn’t answer, of course. So I tried Yaotome.”

Yamato’s blood went cold, but Mitsuki didn’t do so much as look at him.

“No answer again.” He sighed, opening the oven to check on something that was baking inside. Yamato couldn’t help but take in a small breath, admiring the smell of Mitsuki’s labor. Looking around the kitchen, the man had really gone all out. He had already made potatoes and eggs for everyone, and prepared bento boxes for both Iori and Tamaki, complete with decorations and a small canister of King Pudding for them both. Yamato swallowed; the man had to have been up all night.

Because of him.

“Finally, Kujo called me,” he said slowly, washing his hands and pulling out dishes to start setting the table. He finally looked over to Yamato for the first time, his hands trembling as he held the pile of dishes. His skin looked unnatural and pale in the fluorescent kitchen light, the dark shadows from the hallway lighting up the bags under his eyes. “Don’t worry,” he finally said with a bitter smile, as though biting back bile creeping up his throat. “He told me everything. So it’s fine. Just don’t worry us again.”

Mitsuki stumbled on his way to the table, giving it all away. Yamato nearly ran forward, grabbing for the plates awkwardly to keep them from falling. Mitsuki took a step back, recovering as he placed the dishes on the table to lighten the load. Yamato took the hint and turned his attention over to helping set each place. “It’s not fine. I…”

He searched for the words. He wanted to explain. He wanted to tell Mitsuki the truth. But the truth was written all over his body, from his sleepless hungover eyes to the bite marks on his neck. And he knew Mitsuki could fill in the gaps. He just wished he could get the nerve to tell him _why_. Why he had to get Mitsuki off of his mind. Why he had to take the first guy he saw. Why he wanted to pretend that he could get over the man now standing in front of him.

“I worried all six of you. And I said I wouldn’t ever do that again. I really messed up, didn’t I?”

It was all he could manage to say.

“You did,” Mitsuki nodded, curtly. “Just call me next time, so I don’t…” he trailed off, as though sitting on his next words carefully. He placed the glasses on the table, right behind the plates. “So I don’t wait up for you next time.” He smiled bitterly, and Yamato’s stomach felt sick just looking at it. “Not that I think I’ll need to wait up for you again.”

“Mitsu, look...if you’re mad...” he started, but he wasn’t sure what to say. This felt so much like before, like the night Mitsuki had punched him. Really, the more he thought about it, the more Yamato realized that nothing had really changed from that night. Mitsuki was angry at Yamato for constantly running away. And Yamato just couldn’t stop running, no matter how desperately he wanted to open up to the other man.

Only this time, Mitsuki didn’t want to let it show. He didn’t want his anger to boil over again. He didn’t want to punch Yamato. Even though Yamato knew exactly how badly he deserved it. “I’m sorry,” he offered weakly, knowing exactly how pathetic that sounded.

“Forget it,” Mitsuki finally said with a sigh, looking up. He went back to the kitchen area, grabbing silverware from the drawers. “There isn’t anything to be mad about, so don’t apologize. Like I said, it’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine. And Yamato wanted to say just that. He wanted to say it _so badly_ but the words weren’t coming. He could never apologize fully. Not without admitting those things that kept him awake after he had already wished Mitsuki a good night. “I mean, if there’s anything I ca-”

“I said it’s _nothing_ ,” Mitsuki interrupted with a stiff bark, his voice finally slipping from its careful tone. Finally, a bit of the real Mitsuki was slipping out. Hot-blooded, honest, barreling forward no matter the costs. The Mitsuki that opened Yamato’s eyes time and time again. The Mitsuki that made him want to work hard for something. The Mitsuki that Yamato…

“There was never anything to begin with, after all,” he finally added, laying down the last fork.

Any will to say anything at all died in Yamato’s throat. There was nothing he could say after that. Everything that happened between them was so neatly summed up in those words. He only took a step back from the light of the kitchen, retreating into the darkened hall.

“Go wake up the others. Breakfast’s almost ready and they’re going to want to know that you’re back safe.”

Yamato only nodded and left, feeling completely helpless to do anything else.

\---

“You barely ate anything.”

Iori and Sougo had both insisted on staying to clean up after breakfast. Mitsuki managed to shake Iori off. They had spent their whole lives together, and he knew when to leave well enough alone. He knew when to just let Mitsuki cool off and sort things out. He appreciated that about his little brother, even if he was kicking himself for making him worry.

Sougo was a different story entirely.

“I had been snacking while I was cooking,” Mitsuki confessed with a shrug. “It all looked really good, so I guess I couldn’t help myself!” His own voice sounded foreign to him, but he couldn’t put the others through another fight between him and Yamato. For their sake, he couldn’t let it show.

“You said it yourself. It’s a family feast to celebrate a successful live. It’s no good if we don’t all eat as a family,” Sougo replied, far too observant for his own good. He handed a soapy plate over for Mitsuki to towel down and put on the drying rack. “But I suppose I understand. You must have woken pretty early to prepare all that food. Either that,” he paused, glancing over at Mitsuki, “or you didn’t sleep at all.” 

Mitsuki bristled, startled at how quickly he had given himself away. He knew that there was no use hiding it from a guy like Sougo. He was emotionally intelligent, and he cared greatly for every single one of them. It was valuable, but it also led to him running himself ragged for the sake of others. There was no need to do that for him and Yamato. It was just another fight. Just another mistake.

“Yamato-san didn’t talk much during breakfast, did he?” Sougo pressed again.

Mitsuki choked out a laugh. He really wasn’t going to let it rest, he realized. “It’s hard to talk when you’re guzzling coffee like your life depends on it,” he waved him off with a small smile. “You know that old geezer. He has a hard enough time in the mornings, let alone when he’s out all night drinking with Yaotome.”

“I see,” Sougo nodded, turning back to scrubbing the silverware. He likely realized that the conversation was going nowhere fast. Because as far as Sougo needed to know, that’s all it was. The live had been a success, and Yamato wanted to go out and celebrate. He had lost track of time, and forgotten to call. That’s all it was. Yamato had the decency to fix his hair and put on a turtleneck before breakfast, so no one could have known. He could have fooled anyone.

It would have even fooled Mitsuki, if Mitsuki didn’t know exactly what Yamato Nikaidou looked like after being thoroughly fucked.

He remembered the bruises on Yamato’s neck, the stagger in his stride, the shame in his eyes as he stood in the 6am kitchen light. The bowl he was holding slipped out of his hands, and into the sink.

Mitsuki sighed as he fished it out, clearing his throat as Sougo looked at him, struggling to find what words he wanted to say. It was fine. He didn’t have to say anything at all. “You know, on second thought, you might be right. I _did_ have a pretty late night. I should be getting some sleep. I hate to leave you with the rest but…”

The other man finally smiled, nodding in total understanding. “It’s not much more, and I’m happy to help in whatever way I can. But…Mitsuki-san,” he started, pulling Mitsuki’s attention as he started to dry off his hands.

“When you’ve rested, would you consider talking to him? Please? For our sake?” He was still smiling, but the smile had turned sad, full of memories of the last time they fought. Of when they both had to separate themselves from each other. Mitsuki had thought they had sorted it out then, that they had become friends again. And maybe they had.

But somewhere down the line, being friends wasn’t enough for Mitsuki anymore.

“I’ll try,” he promised with a firm nod. He wasn’t sure if it would solve anything. He was certain he could never tell Yamato why he waited up all night for him to come home. And he was _positive_ he could never admit why it made him both so furious and so hollow to know Yamato had sex with another man. Let alone a man he could never compare to. No matter how hard he tried, his arms would never hold a candle to the world’s most desirable embrace.  

But for everyone’s sake, he was willing to try.

\---

Yamato woke up around noon, and wondered if it was too early to start drinking. His head still hurt, but he was almost certain the hangover had worn off. He looked over at the clock, and then over at his phone. He grabbed his glasses and began to leaf through his missed messages, laying on his back as he held the phone above him, letting the dim electronic light wash over him.

**FROM: Nagi  
** _Are u ok? I am very worried!_

**FROM: Sou  
** _I don’t know what all that was about but can you actually try talking to him this time?_

**FROM: Yaotome  
** _Hey. Call you call me when you wake up?_

Yamato put his phone down and closed his eyes.

He owed them a response. He owed them _all_ a response. And he knew it. But every time he closed his eyes all he could see was Mitsuki, cheerfully talking to Riku at the breakfast table and avoiding eye-contact with him. All he could see was the man’s sleepless eyes. His tired smile. His hands, worn with worry and work.

He turned back over on his stomach and shoved his face into the pillow.

Mitsuki after lives was his favorite, if he was being honest with himself. They had fooled around with each other long enough, and for many different occasions. Celebration, anger, stress-relief. Sometimes there was no catalyst at all. Sometimes Mitsuki would just shove him against a wall. Sometimes Yamato’s hand would drift too far when they were watching movies on the couch. They had been doing it for three years, on and off and here and there. When it mattered. When it was convenient. But after concerts was always his favorite.

They would lace hands after the show, as they took a bow on stage. And just for that moment, Yamato would let himself imagine what it would be like if it wasn’t about sex. If he could lace his fingers in Mitsuki’s all the time, for no reason at all. Mitsuki would look up and smile at him as the crowd cheered. And even if it was late at night in the middle of winter, Yamato would feel like the sun was shining just for him. Like he had wanted something, like he had worked hard to achieve it.

Then they would go back to the dorms, and they would fall into Yamato’s bed. Mitsuki would crawl over him, take off Yamato’s glasses and set them aside. Then Yamato would reach up to card his hands through Mitsuki’s hair and wonder if this is what Mitsuki meant by feeling something more than moderately happy.

Only, that’s not what had happened after the show last night.

**TO: Yaotome  
** _Yeah hang on. I’ll call in a minute._

He finally sat up, shifting from under his sheets as he hovered his thumb over the call button. He knew he couldn’t rehearse it first. He just had to call. If he thought about what he wanted to say, he was only going to run away again. Gaku deserved better than that. And Mitsuki…

Well it was probably too late for that. But at the very least, he could make one thing right.

“ _Hey_ ,” Gaku’s voice rang out from the other end, serious and honest and full of meaning.

On second thought, calling felt like a terrible idea. 

“Yo,” Yamato laughed, leaning against his headboard and trying to sound casual. “You hungover too? You sound like you got ran over by a truck.”

At this, the other man chuckled, and Yamato felt some of the nerves uncoil in his throat. “ _Tenn woke me up around seven. Apparently he thinks we should still get some dance practice in today. I suppose the guy does have a point. One successful event doesn’t mean the work is done._ ”

Yamato nodded, but didn’t say anything. He couldn’t think of the words to say. Instead he simply opted to let the pause in conversation sit between them awkwardly, waiting for Gaku to make the first move. Yamato was done making the first move for now; it never seemed to turn out well.

“ _You made it back okay, then? Tenn…he told me that they called. That they were worried when you hadn’t come back._ ”

 “Mmm,” Yamato hummed, trying to sound dispassionate about it. “I did worry them. I still feel pretty bad about it. But I learned my lesson I suppose. I’ll just make sure I check in and call, next time.”

“ _Ah. About that…”_ Gaku started with a cough to clear his throat. Yamato grit his teeth as he prepared for the man’s next words.  “ _I really don’t think there should be a next time. Or well...I should say…maybe neither of us want there to be a next time?”_

Yamato laughed, though he wasn’t sure there was anything to laugh about. “Was it really that bad?”

“ _What?! No! No you were…I mean to say…it’s not you, it’s me? I mean…”_ Gaku started in defense, before realizing exactly the game his friend was playing. “ _Izumi Senior,”_ he then said, changing his approach entirely. “ _Did you tell him?”_

Yamato’s heart found another low to sink towards as he relaxed his shoulders into the bed. He closed his eyes, using one hand to pinch his nose from under his glasses. There was no use lying to the man, he realized dimly. He had subjected Gaku to one too many drunken rants, confused and frustrated and lovesick. And Gaku had returned the favor with plenty of emotions of his own. Their relationship was built on the backbone of heartache. And now, Yamato was paying the price. “I didn’t need to,” he finally confessed. “He figured it out on his own.”

_“Ah. So he was angry?”_

Yamato paused, unsure of what emotion Mitsuki was feeling. Usually he wore every emotion on his sleeve. He was a spark, and he could easily be kindled into a full flame. But this time, he was desperately trying to snuff out his own light, to keep everything in check. And Yamato couldn’t begin to guess what was running through his head. So he did the only thing that made sense: he tried not to think about it.

“I slept with you to get over my best friend, and you want to know if my _friend_ is angry?”

Yaotome laughed, awkward but full-bodied this time. “ _I’m not upset at you, if that’s what you were wondering. I was…running away too, wasn’t I? Taking the easy way out. I’m mad at myself, if anything. But I’ll move on. I just needed to talk to you first._ ”

Yamato nodded. Closure. Even if there was nothing to close. He understood that, in a way. And he couldn’t help but feel like this conversation _was_ helping. “Look at us. A pair of confused, lonely cowards.” He sighed, mulling over his next words. “I know I’m not supposed to say this, but maybe you should…”

“ _Talk to her? Speak my emotions freely?”_ Yamato could practically _feel_ the other man smirk over the phone.

“You’re a real bastard, you know that?” He sighed, pulling the phone away from his ear to look at his messages. He thumbed over his message from Sougo. ‘Talk to him this time’. This time. Don’t let it happen again. Yamato didn’t want to lose Mitsuki again.

“ _Takes one to know on_ e,” Gaku laughed, almost bitterly. “ _Thank you, Nik…no. Thank you, Yamato. Let me know how it goes, okay?”_

Yamato hung onto that for a moment, before finally sighing. “Yeah. I will. Thanks, Yao-Gaku,” he relented, smiling just a little as he hung up the phone.

He placed it down on the nightstand and let out a long breath. He wasn’t sure if he was feeling relief or rejection. Everything felt boiled down, meaninglessly jumbled inside of him. Each emotion bled into another, until it was all one indiscernible mess, swimming inside his chest and pushing up through his throat.

He didn’t have feelings for Gaku. He never had. He didn’t want the man to want him. He just wanted to be wanted. He had craved it, desperately needing to desire someone other than Mitsuki. To prove he could get over him. To run away from the sunlight and just go back to the dark where everything was familiar and safe. And in the end, he had lost the last bit of light he had left. And the man he ran to didn’t even want him.

He looked at the clock. Barely forty-five minutes had passed. And it was still too early for that beer.

\---

He and Yamato weren’t avoiding each other, necessarily. They just hadn’t seen each other all day. True, normally the two of them would hang out on the couch, or go out shopping, or hang out with Nagi. There just wasn’t any reason for them to do that today. It was like he said: it was nothing.

_There was never anything at all._

Mitsuki sighed as he replayed his own words in his head. Perhaps he _should_ be angrier, he pondered as he tested the sauce he created. Perhaps it would all blow over faster if he just let out his emotions in one big storm. Perhaps he just needed to get all the pain and irritation and heartbreak over with, all at once. He let the spoon rest on his lips carefully, focusing on the flavor instead. Sougo wouldn’t like it much, he decided. But he could always add more spice on his own.

He had no need to be angry, Mitsuki decided. It was all his fault, in the long run. Yamato had approached him after the live, before even leaving the venue. His skin was hot from performing. He smelled heavy with sweat, and his eyes were lidded with need. They barely waited until they were alone, and already Yamato was trailing his fingers up Mitsuki’s arms, towards his neck, gently tugging down the costume of his collar. Mitsuki rolled his head back without even thinking, as well-practiced as the dances they performed on stage.

_“Come on, Mitsu. We can make this quick.”_

Mitsuki didn’t want it quick. Not that night. Not ever, really. He wanted to grab onto Yamato’s hand, and hold him against a mattress. He wanted to lace their fingers together, and pretend for a little while that it was more than an easy way to relieve stress after an event. He needed something that could last an entire night. Something that could validate him until he could get his fix again.  

So Mitsuki turned him away.

He sighed and shook his head, returning back to the pot with new focus, determined to once again cook away all of his thoughts. He turned down Yamato. And Yamato had found what he needed somewhere else. It was that simple. It meant nothing. _It was fine_.

His hands were shaking as he poured the chopped onions into the pan.

 “Smells good. What’s for dinner?”

Yamato’s voice sounded worn and tired, but still warm and familiar. Mitsuki didn’t turn around, but he swore it wasn’t because he was avoiding him. He just needed to focus on the saucepan. He didn’t say anything, and that only seemed to spur the other man on. Pretty soon, he could feel Yamato right behind him, body heat prickling between them as his back hovered right in front of Yamato’s chest.

The other man leaned forward, grabbing a spoon to take a taste of the sauce himself. “Ah! Crap! That’s hot!” He nearly bounced backwards, hissing.

“You put it in your mouth _right_ off of the stove, moron! What did you expect?” Finally, Mitsuki relented, feeling his irritation boil over as he turned around.

“I had to check it for poison,” Yamato shrugged, huffing as he put the spoon down and fanned his tongue, sticking it out of his mouth. It was a ridiculous sight, and Mitsuki had to bite his lip not to laugh at him. It all felt so _normal_. This could happen any day of the week. Mitsuki would cook dinner, and Yamato would come to help him, or bother him, or try to sneak free food. Being in the kitchen together felt so natural.

He paused in his thoughts, blinking as he stared at Yamato. Perhaps the reason he always came here was because he knew this was the place where Yamato would try to find him. Just like the Zero Arena, where they all found each other time and time again in their darkest moments.

Yamato had stopped making a scene, and was now staring back at Mitsuki in turn. Their eyes were locked, and Mitsuki could almost trace the thousands of thoughts running through Yamato’s mind, reflecting in his eyes. There was no malice between them, in that moment. Only questions that neither of them wanted to ask, and neither knew how to answer.

Mitsuki pivoted on his heels, turning back around to turn down the heat of the stove. “Why would I want to poison you? It’d look pretty silly if IDOLiSH7 walked out on stage with only six people. Fans would start asking questions. ‘Hey! Where’s that old geezer in your group?’ ‘Wasn’t there a tall pervert at one point?’” He laughed to himself, wishing he had the courage to turn around and look at Yamato’s face. Maybe later. Maybe after this all blew over. But right now, he had to gain a sense of normalcy.

“Besides I already told you; I’m not mad at you,” Mitsuki added, his voice softening. He moved the pan off the burner, a lump tightening in his throat as the words tumbled out of his mouth. “I’m just tired of being everyone’s consolation prize.” 

Yamato was quiet for a long moment, moving around to stand next to Mitsuki. He leaned over, trying to look the man in the eye as he continued preparing the noodles. Mitsuki didn’t play along, letting the words stew as he tried to think of something else to say. Or to wait for Yamato to prove him wrong. For now, his silence told him everything he needed to know.

“Mitsu…” he finally said, resting his hand on Mitsuki’s shoulder, almost uncertain. Mitsuki tried to shrug him off, with more force than he had meant to. Some of the water came splashing out of the pot, landing on the ceramic of the stove in a sizzle. He took a long breath, realizing he too was getting heated, tears dancing on the edge of his eyes.

“No. No you don’t need to comfort me. I get it. We weren’t dating or anything, so it’s not worth throwing our friendship away over. You just found someone that fills your needs better,” he insisted, placing the pot down before he spilled anything else. His hands were shaking, and his head felt both light and heavy all at once, as though his entire body would dismantle if he took one wrong step.  

But as he closed his eyes to take a deep breath, he could feel that Yamato’s hand was shaking too, gripping onto his shoulder as though his fingers would slip through him if he didn’t hold on tightly. Mitsuki paused, looking over at the other man. “Or…are you the one that needs comfort?” He raised an eyebrow, and Yamato’s face told him the whole story. He really was the master of expressions, after all. “He turned you down, didn’t he? Had his fun and tossed you aside? I have to admit, that doesn’t really seem like him…”

“Shut up.” Yamato’s grip tightened in warning, but Mitsuki couldn’t seem to stop. It felt too good to say it. It felt too good to watch Yamato fall apart the way that he was. It felt good to know that someone else felt rejected and used up. It felt good to know that Yamato was suffering too.

“Did you cry? Did you beg him to take you back? Did he find out that you were fooling around with me?” Mitsuki felt like a man possessed, saying these hurtful things. “Did he decide you weren’t good enough for him?”

Yamato let go, with a solid push, his jaw tightened and his eyebrows furrowed, water pricking on the side of his eyes. Mitsuki wanted to laugh. He wanted to scream and he wanted to cry. But more than anything, this is what he had always wanted from Yamato. Real tears of frustration. Real emotion, pouring out of him. Not some clever ruse put together with an easy irresistible smile.

“You don’t get it. _He_ wasn’t good enough for _me_.” His voice sounded strained, keeping the volume as controlled as he could. “He isn’t _you_.”

Everything in the room seemed to stop as the words caught up to Mitsuki, all sounds drowning completely as Yamato’s words suffocated him.

“Don’t…don’t say weird things, Old Man.” He tried to laugh, but it only came out as forced huffs of breath.

“Look,” Yamato shook his head, trying again to say what he wanted to say. Only this time, Mitsuki was willing to listen. “I don’t want…I _never_ wanted Yaotome. I only wanted…” he paused, taking a long breath. “If you had wanted me like _that_ , then I would have never slept with him in the first place. Never would have thought about it. But like you said, we’re just friends.”

Mitsuki stopped listening about halfway in, hung up on the first few sentences. “Like _what_? Like _that?!_ What the hell are you talking about?” Mitsuki couldn’t control his volume like Yamato could, his voice rising to match the volume of his heartbeat. “Just tell me. Just spell it out for me for _once._ Just this _one_ time. Tell me what you _want_.” 

“You’re really going to make me say it?” Yamato’s laugh matched Mitsuki’s, strained and awful, every ounce of his acting prowess melting away. “I want you. Only you. Happy? It was never just about sex for me.”

Every thought in Mitsuki’s brain stopped, and all of the breath left his body in an instant, leaving nothing but a small, hushed “Oh.”

“Sorry?” Yamato gave a sick and awful kind of chuckle, finally moving away from the other man. He couldn’t look Mitsuki in the eyes, couldn’t even bear to touch him, stepping away like a wounded animal. “I know that the last thing you want to hear from me, but…well, that’s just how it is, I guess,” he sighed in defeat, nodding towards the stove.

The water was boiling over, and Mitsuki rushed back to turn the burner down to get the water to simmer, his head reeling over every single word as he tried to think of the right thing to say.

But by the time he had put in the noodles and turned around again, Yamato was already walking away.

Mitsuki wasn’t going to watch this. Not again. Not after _that_. He left the stove, dinner be damned. They could order take out if they needed to. He took three strides forward, reaching forward to grab Yamato by the wrist, pulling him back into the kitchen from the doorway to the hall. And Yamato stopped completely, as though desperately wishing that this exact thing would happen; that Mitsuki would stop him, and beg him to stay and talk.

“You’re impossible,” Mitsuki finally sighed, understanding sinking slowly into place. His heart was still pounding, and his head was stilly swimming. But there was something on the edge of it all, a certain lightness that kept him afloat, that kept him hanging onto Yamato’s wrist for balance.  “I can’t believe I fell for a guy like you.”

“Yeah well what can I sa-wait. What?” The realization choked out of Yamato’s mouth, as though the words had been punched out of him. Mitsuki couldn’t help but laugh, his hand was sweating as he held fast to Yamato. He inched his fingers down the wrist, slowly, until their palms were touching. And then lower, until their fingers met. Mitsuki held his eyes steady, staring directly at Yamato until their fingers laced around each other. Yamato’s eyes grew, with a sharp intake of breath, and Mitsuki couldn’t imagine a better sight ever existing.

“You heard me. You’re impossible. And lazy. You drink way too much and have no idea how to express your emotions properly,” Mitsuki sighed, a small smile on his lips. Yamato was staring at him, his mouth completely agape. “You watch _ridiculous_ amounts of porn and you show up late for dance practices. And you won’t let others in because you’re too afraid to hurt them. All those terrible things that you hate about yourself. I love them.”

Yamato still stood at a distance, looking away at Mitsuki for only a second. He stared downwards, eyes focused on their hands interlocked awkwardly between them, reaching out as their fingers flexed around each other. “And what about the part of me that messes around with someone else, all in some stupid attempt to get over you?”

Mitsuki paused, resisting the urge to tear his hand away. But he shook it off, stepping forward and winding his fingers even tighter. Yamato responded in kind, taking a small step forward despite himself. That was another part of the man, Mitsuki realized. The part that wanted someone to cling to him, but was too afraid to cling back, convinced he’d ruin everything. Mitsuki could learn to love that part too, even if he could never change it.

“Just don’t do it again,” he finally relented, pulling his hand back. He had to finish cooking dinner, after all. They had time to talk about this later, he decided.

As soon as he turned around though, Yamato stepped back into space. Behind him once again, chest to Mitsuki’s back. Mitsuki paused for a second, wondering if he should say something. But then Yamato wrapped his arms around his waist, and rested his chin on Mitsuki’s shoulder. “Hey,” he finally said, his voice next to Mitsuki’s ear. “I love you too, you know.”

Mitsuki was glad he wasn’t holding anything, because he was almost certain he would have dropped it. It was too much. Everything was too much. He just gently shoved Yamato off of him, biting back a stupid grin as he said “Yeah. I know.”

He did know. After all this time, he finally _knew_. And he knew it for certain. He grabbed for the salt, letting his arm brush against Yamato’s as he did so. He caught the man’s eyes, and the two of them smiled, like a soft shared secret between them. They still had a lot of things to talk about, and a lot of words left unsaid. But for the first time in his life, Mitsuki felt no need to rush to it. He could take this step by step, just like Yamato had always taught him. Slowly, figuring things out one day at a time.   

**Author's Note:**

> Back on my usual bullshit. 
> 
> Feel free to send me prompts or requests on my [twitter](https://twitter.com/pompouspicklep), and a big big thank you to all THREE of my beta readers on this one, pinyapple, [bluecranes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecranes/pseuds/bluecranes) and of course, rokarca.


End file.
